I have included below several works by
Carl Sandburg written about the guitar and inspired by Sandburg's appreciation of the
father of the modern classical guitar, Andrés Segovia. This past year I have
presented several performances--listed at the bottom of this page--focused on the
relationship of these two men, Sandburg's writings about the guitar, and the
classical guitar pieces Segovia that inspired Sandburg.

Also, I have produced a CD, in part
supported by a Western North Carolina Emerging Artists grant, that includes many of the
classical guitar pieces Sandburg loved, the composition Segovia wrote for Sandburg, and
the guitar-inspired writings of Carl Sandburg. The liner is ten pages of history and
the Sandburg texts. The CD can be ordered by e-mailing me at akersjc@wofford.edu ($10).

Carl Sandburg and Andrés
Segovia

Andrés Segovia, the greatest and
the most celebrated guitarist of the 20th century, was born in Linares, a town
in the province of Jaén, in 1893. Segovia became in his own words
"the apostle of the guitar" and raised the instrument to new heights
of respect and musical achievement. He died in Madrid in 1987 after experiencing
heart trouble that forced him to cancel a concert at Carnegie Hall and fly home
to Spain. He was known by both his years of performance tours and his
dozens of recordings. His performing career lasted 78 years; his recording
career, 50.

Sandburg and Segovia met in 1938, although
Sandburg knew Segovia's recordings from the 1920s. It has been said that Sandburg
was profoundly influenced by their meeting and that it rejuvenated his writing. He
had Segovia promise lessons which took the form of one original compostion for Sandburg
written on hotel stationery twelve years after their meeting.

Some of Sandburg's best guitar and
Segovia-inspired writings were published by the Guitar
Review and are shared below with permission of the Carl Sandburg Estate.

The Guitar:Some Definitions

Guitar Review, no. 12, 1951.
by Carl Sandburg

A chattel with a soul, often in part owning its owner
and tantalizing him with his lack of perfection.

An instrument of quaint design and quiet demeanor,
dedicated to the dulcet
rather than the diapason.

A box of chosen woods having intimate accessories
wherefrom sound is measured and commanded to the interest of ears not lost to hammer crash
or wind whisper.

A portable companion, distinguished from the piano in
that you can take it with you, neither horses nor motor truck being involved.

A small friend weighing less than a newborn infant, ever
responsive to all sincere efforts aimed at mutual respect, depth of affection or love gone
off the deep end.

A device in the realm of harmonic creation whose six
silent strings have the sound potential of profound contemplation or happy-go-lucky whim.

This is a submission of Sandburg's to the Guitar Review
that was rejected, primarily on the grounds that it might offend serious readers in their
respect for Segovia. It was thought that Segovia himself would have enjoyed
it. Sandburg never submitted anything again to the Guitar Review.
Read more about this work and others in Gregory d'Alessio's The Old Troubadour,
published by Walker, 1987.

"There is only one Segovia."

"Sure, sure. How can there be more than one
Segovia?"

"Well, what I mean is if there was more than one
Segovia you would hear about it."

"I know what you mean, you're trying to say
nobody has yet come along who can stand up to Segovia and trade punches and come out
even."

"You talk like Segovia is a prize fighter, a leather
pusher."

"Well, a champeen is a champeen, ain't he?"

"Sure, and an artist is an artist."

"And if an artist has what it takes and has won more
fights than any others in the field, why can't I say he's a champeen?"

"All right, have it your way. But I come back
to what I started with."

"And what was that?"

"I said there was only one Segovia and you got smart
and had to ask me how could there be more than one Segovia."

"Well, by cracky. I'm comin' back again to ask
you how can there be two Segovias?"

"And the last time you said that, I told you, of
course if there was more than one Segovia, we would hear about it."

"Sure, sure and since we don't hear there's two
Segovias of course there's only one."

"And that's what I started to tell you and you
wanted an argument--here's my station and I'm getting off and my last word to you is the
same as my first--there is only one Segovia."

A Letter to the Editor of Century
Magazine
(d'Alessio, p. 52)
by Carl Sandburg

Dear Editor:

Would you kindly correct the statement published a number
of times that in the song-offering in my recital concerts I employ a banjo?

The instrument used is one with less percussion and more
intimations of silence than the banjo.

Sometimes when the strings of it are thrummed, one has to
listen twice to find the chord and the melody.

The box of the instrument is entirely of wood, with
cunning construction, having had centuries of study, rehearsal and try-out by Italians,
Spaniards, and the same Arabians who hunted up the Arabic numerals.

At music stores and pawn shops the instrument is
known as a Guitar.

The banjo is meant for jigs, buck and wing dances,
attack, surprise, riot and rout. The guitar is intended for serenades, croons, for
retreat, retirement, fadeaway.

I thank you.

Carl Sandburg

The following work is from Timespan, his last published
poem before his death. It is significant to guitarists because of the poet's
use of the "pling" sound--that of a plucked string instrument?--accompanying the
last experience of life.

Selections from Sandburg's
"Timesweep," his last poem published during his lifetime...

Since death is there in the marvel of the sun coming up
to travel its arc and go down, saying I am time and you are time, since death is there in
almost inaudible chimes of every slow clock tick beginning at the birth hour, there must
be a tremor of music in the last little gong, the pling of the final announcement from the
Black void.